Project - 16 (9 page)

“
Yeah, I guess it is what it is.”

“
I know. We're needed back home but I hate to think of just
walking out of here and leaving the door wide open for those Commie
bastards. Man, they've got most of Europe - do they need the
fucking rest?”

“
Who knows?” I said, looking around at the gaps in the
shelving. It looked like things were moving fast.

“
Yeah, exactly. Who does?” he said. “Anyway, what do you need
from old Tony? You'd better move fast - they're robbing me blind
here. Whatever you need, just take it. I can have the boys run it
over to your truck if you want.”

“
How are you for diesel?” I asked. He clucked his tongue and
did a dramatic head shake.

“
No-can-do I'm afraid. I got orders to fill your rig and no
more...” he said, then, patting the top of his desk he winked at me
and smiled. I got it. There'd be a few 'lost' cans hidden in the
'Rover when I got back. It still wouldn't be enough but I would
take whatever I could get now. I didn't think the NSU would be
putting any petrol pumps up when they got here.

“
Thanks, Tony.”

“
Don't mention it - and I mean it! They'd kill me if they
knew. Still, I figure I owe you and your Pop something. Have a look
through the shelves, take what you want. We won't be needing it.
Most of the guys...”

“
What is it?” I asked. Those friendly eyes suddenly turned
away and began searching the paperwork on the desk for something
more distracting.

“
Well, most of the guys, they've got family back home and they
want to make sure they're safe from the rioters, if you know what I
mean,” he said without looking up.

“
I think I do. Desertion.”

The ageing soldier nodded. “Yeah. We've been getting news
feeds and messages from home. It's not good. As soon as the plane
touches the tarmac, most of us are making a run for it.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and he tried to smile but he was
welling up.

“
Don't feel guilty about it,” I said. “I didn't realise it was
that bad over there.”

“
Miller, you don't know the half of it. Man, it's like nothing
we've ever faced before. It makes 9/11 look like a
joke.”

“
What's causing it?”

“
That's the thing - someone bombs your city, you call it
terrorism. Someone invades your country, you call it war. The news,
the politicians, they're not calling it anything. It's like the
whole fucking system is collapsing and no one knows fucking
why.”

“
I'm sorry, Tony,” I said and I meant it.

“
Me too. I'm sorry that it looks like we're going to be
camping in the woods by the end of the year like you.” He laughed
but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. I offered him my hand and we
shook. Then I went into the crates and began taking as much as I
could, trying not to let the panic get its fingers around my
throat.

Riley appeared an hour later dragging a trolley of gear
behind her. She had a beer in one hand which she emptied before
throwing it over the wall.

“
Give me a hand,” she said, opening the back of my 'Rover and
throwing her bags on top of the boxes. Slung across her shoulders
was a sleek, black rifle with a number of attachments bolted to the
rails including a large scope and an extended magazine. She kept
this with her as she emptied the trolley, then went to the
passenger seat and stood the weapon carefully in the foot well like
it was made of glass.

“
Have you got everything?” I asked.

“
Sure have. Let's roll.”

I climbed into the driving seat and slammed the door shut,
taking one last look behind me at Fort Washington before setting
off through the gate with an armed escort in front and behind. They
led me to the outer barrier and waved me on. Seb was at the front
and I pulled up alongside him.

“
You take care of yourself, mate,” I said.

“
You too, buddy.” He stuck his hand through the open window
and I shook it. “Maybe we'll be back.”

“
Yeah, maybe. I spoke to the QM.”

“
You did?” he replied. His expression told me what I wanted to
know.

“
Be safe. Don't take any chances. It'll get crazy out there
and people will surprise you when you see how low they can go
before the end.”

“
Yeah, I think I understand. We'll be careful. See you,
Miller.”

“
See you, Seb.”

I drove on, leaving him staring after me. Before I knew it we
were on the old road and heading north into a hazy, sunny afternoon
that promised to stay dry. Riley turned in her seat and looked at
me through her round sunglasses - optimistic for anyone in this
country.

“
You know what they're planning?” she asked. I nodded. “The
QM?”

“
Yeah.”

“
I spoke to my sister. Warned her. Gave her a few
names.”

“
Is it as bad as they're saying?” I asked. She
shrugged.

“
Hard to tell. When has the media ever told you the
truth?”

“
Fair point,” I replied.

We drove on in silence for a bit. I wasn't going fast - hell,
Land Rovers never did, but with my fuel supply gone I'd have to
take it easy all the way home.

“
How far is it?” she asked. “To your house, I
mean.”

“
About three hours, maybe more if we have to take a detour,” I
replied. “It depends on the roads.”

“
Is it a nice place?”

“
I think so,” I said.

“
Colonel said you used to train Rangers up there.”

“
Yeah. For quite a while. It was my Dad's job, then he passed
it on to me.”

“
I never went in for that survival bullshit before,” she said,
lifting her foot onto the dash. “I figure that if you're going to
get stuck without your gear or a radio then you might as well die
because you ain't cut out for being a Ranger.”

“
That's one point of view,” I said, restraining a
sigh.

“
I can shoot straight - that's the only thing I need to know.
I never listened in these lessons. I got bored of them moaning on
all day. If I could get away with not being there I usually wasn't.
One time, me and this guy ducked a whole day just by hanging around
the range, cleaning guns and loading mags. Man, we had a hoot back
then. Tommy, that was his name, Tommy Ledbetter.”

“
Good guy?” I asked.

“
Yeah, the best. Then he got killed in Iran. Taken prisoner,
killed under torture. When they found him he was missing a lot of
stuff. Arms and shit.”

If you weren't looking for it, you'd never have seen it. It
was all in that turn of the head, the quick, almost invisible pulse
of the neck muscles that moved the mind of Claudia to somewhere
else in an instant, somewhere, anywhere other than Iran and the
body of Tommy Ledbetter.

“
You ever had crumpets?” I asked. She laughed and Riley was
back in an instant.

“
Crumpets? What the fuck are they?”

“
Like toast but thicker with bubbles in.”

“
Bubbles?”

“
Yeah. You butter them when they're hot. Like
toast.”

“
Sounds weird,” she said. “Where do you get them
from?”

“
I make them,” I replied.

“
What, like baking and stuff?”

“
Yeah.”

“
My Mom used to bake. Baked her own bread every Sunday to have
with our lunch when we got back from church. She never baked
fucked-up toast though. Never saw her bake a crumpet.”

I laughed and so did she. “You went to church?”

“
Yeah, we all did. Big family thing, been doing it for
generations. Same church, same time and up until a few years ago it
was the same Pastor. Then he went and joined Jesus and now they got
some new guy in who ain't as good.”

“
Do you believe it all?”

“
Hell no. You think I could do my job and cry 'God Bless
Claudia Riley' after it? Nah, I done some bad shit that I ain't
proud of and if God is up there then I don't think he'll be too
happy with me.”

“
I see your point.”

“
Do you? Man, I never got the whole 'God Bless America'
bullshit. If there is a God then he stopped blessing us when we
delivered early Christmas presents to Nagasaki and
Hiroshima.”

“
You aren't proud to be American?” I asked.

“
Proud? What the fuck have we got to be proud of? Man, the
moment the Ruskies started moving south we backed down like they
were the high-school bully or something. There was a time we'd just
go over there and fuck them up. Now? Now we ain't got the backbone
to do that any more. Now you guys, man, they were good times. Who
was that guy at Trafalgar?”

“
Nelson?”

“
Yeah, he was a bad-ass. He wouldn't be taking this
shit.”

“
That's true,” I said. “You know your history
then?”

“
Yeah, I used to love all that stuff in school. Now that
bullshit I
did
listen to.”

We drove on across the better roads that hadn't blistered and
split with time. It may have been the reason the US decided to
build their Fort here but I couldn't be sure. The land on either
side was overgrown and almost jungle-like as roots, creepers and
thick bushes of weeds strangled brickwork and steel piping, pulling
it millimetre by imperceptible millimetre down into the dirt. Riley
seemed to stare at it through her superfluous
sunglasses.

“
There really is nothing left,” she muttered to herself. “What
a fucking mess.”

“
It depends on your point of view,” I said, turning off the
road into a rutted path that ran parallel to it. Here the tarmac
ended where one of the warheads had landed slap-bang in the centre
of the road and made a crater that could swallow the Land Rover
whole.

Often we drove in silence which I suspected was a new concept
to Riley as she seemed to find it difficult to sit still. She spent
most the time tapping the screen of her small tablet, scrolling
down various new feeds that came to her from the US satellites
above. At times she giggled to herself, at others she put in
headphones and listened to something, looking out of the window as
the ruined country sailed past. I was fine with that. It meant I
could listen to the rumbling of the wheels turning underneath me,
the growling of the engine as it ate up the miles and the empty
silence that came after the chaos of a mini apocalypse.

When we were about half an hour from home, she packed away
her gear and sighed.

“
Why is it we can make tanks and helicopters that move by
themselves but we can't make fucking batteries that last more than
24 hours?” she said.

“
I don't know. It's always been a mystery to me.”

“
It's a fucking joke. I hope you have power in this house of
yours, I’ve got a lot of shit to charge.”

“
Like I said, I have a generator that should do
you.”

“
Don't take this the wrong way but I'm not really expecting
much so you'll forgive me if I struggle to believe you.”

“
What
are
you expecting?” I asked.

“
When they told me about you my first thought was 'oh my God -
he's a fucking hobo'. I could see you living in some wooden shack
that was about to fall down, brewing moonshine and walking round in
long johns, the kind with the button flap at the back for taking a
crap in.”

“
Thanks. And now?”

“
You're younger than I thought you were, but I haven't seen
the house yet so I'm reserving my judgement. You could still be a
tramp and have long johns under your clothes there.”

“
That's true enough I guess.”

So when we turned the corner into the long country road that
would take us to my Father's house, I kept a close eye on her
expression. When the tall pine forests parted and the land around
the house opened up before us she gasped and her jaw
dropped.

“
Is this it?” she asked.

“
Yep. I brew my moonshine over there and sit on my porch with
a shotgun over there.”

“
It's a fucking mansion!” she cried.

The three storey game keepers house sat just off centre of a
grass covered clearing where a few wild sheep roamed around,
nibbling here and there. It was built of a creamy coloured brick
and roofed in slate that had paled slightly over time. Black cast
iron guttering edged the hard faces and corners and two large bay
windows with white frames faced northwards. On the western side of
the main building there was a small courtyard with a lone orange
tree growing in the centre with bronzed benches circling it and
many creepers spreading across the ageing brick walls like hundreds
of tiny fingers. On the eastern side were several long poly-tunnels
surrounded by a wire fence with wooden posts where troughs of
potatoes were lined up in orderly rows.